ident; you were careful not to recognize any of the three men in the
motor."

"I had no chance to recognize any of them, Mr. Santoine," Eaton replied
easily. "I did not see the car coming; I was thrown from my feet; when
I got up, it was too far away for me to recognize any one."

"Perhaps so; but were you surprised when my daughter recognized one of
them as having been on the train with us?"

Eaton hesitated, but answered almost immediately:

"Your question doesn't exactly fit the case. I thought Miss Santoine
had made a mistake."

"But you were not surprised; no. What would have been a surprise to
you, Eaton, would have been--if you had had a chance to observe the
men--to have found that none of them--none of them had been on the
train!"

Eaton started and felt that he had colored. How much did Santoine
know? Had the blind man received, as Eaton feared, some answer to his
inquiries which had revealed, or nearly revealed, Eaton's identity? Or
was it merely that the attack made on Eaton that morning had given
Santoine new light on the events that had happened on the train and
particularly--Eaton guessed--on the cipher telegram which Santoine
claimed to have translated? Whatever the case might be, Eaton knew
that he must conceal from Harriet the effect the blind man's words
produced on him. Santoine, of course, could not see these effects; and
he had kept his daughter in the room to watch for just such things.
Eaton glanced at her; she was watching him and, quite evidently, had
seen his discomposure, but she made no comment. As he regained
possession of himself, her gaze went back intently to her father.
Eaton looked from her back to the blind man, and saw that Santoine was
waiting for him to speak.

"You assume that, Mr. Santoine," he asserted, "because--" He checked
himself and altered his sentence. "Will you tell me why you assume
that?"

"That that would have surprised you? Yes; that is what I called you in
here to tell you."

As Santoine waited a moment before going on, Eaton watched him
anxiously. The blind man turned himself on his pillows so as to face
Eaton more directly; his sightless, motionless eyes told nothing of
what was going on in his mind.

"Just ten days ago," Santoine said evenly and dispassionately, "I was
found unconscious in my berth--Section Three of the rearmost
sleeper--on the transcontinental train, which I had taken with my
daughter and Avery at Seattle. I had been